Of Bohemians and Revolutions
by Seahorse von Schweetz
Summary: *Previously 'A Miserable Rent'* These bohemians, drunkards and revolutionaries don't have enough money to pay their rent. See how they cope with this and other several struggles.


**I had uploaded this as "A Miserable Rent" but soon realized it had a lot of mistakes regarding what I had planned. I've revised it and put it up again. I'm very sorry for the inconvenient. I'll publish the next chapter in a few hours. Thanks for reading and reviewing :) **

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><p><strong>Main Cast (In parenthesis their Rent equivalent)<strong>

**Enjolras** (Roger Davis), a rock singer.

**Éponine** (Mimi Márquez), an exotic dancer.

**Combeferre** (Mark Cohen), a filmmaker.

**Courfeyrac** (Tom Collins), an anarchist teacher.

**Jehan** (Angel Dumott), a drag queen and poet.

**Musichetta** (Maureen Johnson), a performance actress.

**Azelma** (Joanne Jefferson), a lawyer.

**Marius** (Benny Coffin), the landlord.

**Cosette** (Allison), Benny's wife.

*This is just the "main" cast. More characters will appear later on.*

...

Chapter 1

**December 24th, 1989 **

**Alphabet City, Slums of Saint Michel**

**Paris, France **

"A woman, perhaps 40 years old, and a girl, 20 at most. They're moving in to the building tonight. I wonder what floor? Apparently they don't have much - "

"Cut it out, Combeferre. You're getting on my nerves! What the fuck are you even doing?"

"It's called an unscripted documentary, Enjolras," Combeferre said as he turned his video camera off.

"What's that for?" Enjolras asked uninterested as his fingers moved lazily through his guitar's frets.

"I figured out l_'Académie du Cinéma _will be more interested in my work if I do something more...natural," he explained, sitting down on the age worn sofa. The messy blond in front of him continued playing a simple melody with his guitar.

"They won't be interested in your work," he said with a severe expression, "They haven't been for the past three years. They won't be now."

"They better be," Combeferre said, scoffing at his friend's negativity, "bills keep coming and you haven't written a single - "

"I know I haven't written anything in a very long time," the blonde guitarist replied, leaving his guitar on the floor and sprawling himself on the chair.

"And we haven't -"

"I know we haven't paid last year's rent," he replied, rolling his eyes.

Combeferre cleaned his glasses with his shirt and put them back on. He was about to ask Enjolras why was he so mad but refrained from it, very well knowing the cause of his bitterness.

Suddenly, a beeper went off. The guitarist groaned in frustration as he took a little orange bottle from his pocket, taking a pill and swallowing it quickly.

"KEYS!" someone shouted from the street. Instantaneously, Combeferre stood up and took the keys from the three-legged table that rested against a corner. He then opened the window, jumping to the fire escape and seeing a dark-haired freckled youth waiting. He waved and the guy waved back.

"Merry Christmas 'Ferre!"

"Merry Christmas Courfeyrac! We haven't seen you in ages!" Combeferre replied, throwing the keys at him.

"I don't consider six months to be ages..." Courfeyrac answered with a sly smile.

"Hurry up...it's freezing!" He said while going back into the apartment.

Enjolras was still sprawled on the chair. This time, the messy blond stared at his four-eyed friend with a soft frown and the ghost of regret clouding his eyes.

"This...unscripted thing...how long will it be?" he asked.

Combeferre smiled, knowing that was his way of apologizing for his moodiness. "I don't know yet but I know you'll appear. I'll show the world what Saint Michel has to offer to this city of lights."

Enjolras' lips curled in a half smile, one of the few affectionate gestures he allowed himself to do since the fateful November of '88. Combeferre pat his best friend's shoulder, sighing.

...

"I can't believe we actually left that hellhole," the woman said while stretching her arms, taking in her new surroundings with a certain pleasure and pride.

Their new place wasn't precisely a palace. In fact, so many things needed repair that it would actually be easier to rebuild it all. Anyhow, it was way better than many of the places she had called "home" in the past. Having her new place renewed certain hopes she didn't think she still had.

"Me neither," a young girl said, inspecting the dirty windowpane. She restrained from conveying too many emotions in her voice but the security and relief she felt were too big to hide them.

She opened one of the few scattered boxes that contained their belongings, taking a frayed shirt and folding it quickly. All of a sudden, her vision became blurry and her head started pounding very hard.

"Éponine!" the woman said, running towards the girl and grabbing her by her skinny arms before she fell.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," Éponine said, taking her head in her hands, "I just need to seat down."

The woman, Fantine, grabbed the only chair they had in their half empty residence and made the girl sit down. She caressed the girl's long brunette hair. Éponine, who starved for mimes in her childhood, gave in to Fantine's good intentions and felt herself loosing up a bit.

"Éponine, dear –"

A beeping noise drowned her voice. Éponine stretched her hand, reaching a cheap fake leather purse positioned over one of the boxes. She took out a big bottle labeled "AZT" and swallowed a pill. She closed her eyes as Fantine's bony fingers tangled in her curls.

"It should be me...and not you."

"Fantine, don't start please," Éponine answered, covering her face with her hands.

"I'm not starting anything. I'm merely stating..." Fantine answered, remembering those long nights at the docks and all of the strange faces she saw. She remembered the sailors, the filthy drunkards, the old perverts who would take a piece of her youth in exchange of some coins or a few grams of smack.

She remembered the baby she couldn't keep, the blur of that night in which she was soaring the skies of a different world and lost the fruit of her womb to the pleasures of a needle.

Those memories contorted her face and soon tears started to stream. "I've done so much wrong...I've committed so many mistakes. And I'm still here, safe and sound while you, my young starlet, you're paying such a high price for one little indiscretion."

"It was way more than a little indiscretion," Éponine said, shaking her head to avoid rushing into her past.

"Why don't we unpack?" she said, trying to lighten up the mood, "I think that we can make this place look a bit better with some cheap paint and a few adjustments. We can go thrift shopping tomorrow."

"Sure," Fantine answered, moving some boxes and folding shirts.

...

Courfeyrac decided to use the alley as a shortcut. He had bought a bottle of cheap Champaign and three glasses to celebrate Christmas eve with his friends, who he hadn't seen since he accepted his failed job as a law teacher at l'Université Catholique de Lyon, where he had been kicked out because of his particular views and conditions.

All of a sudden, four men appeared out of nowhere, cornering him with rusty pocketknives. The encounter was too fast for him to register it completely, all he knew was that he had refused to give them what they wanted and, a few minutes later, he was whining on the floor, bleeding.

He closed his eyes, resigned to the pass of spending the night in that dark alley, until someone approached to him and kneeled by his side.

"Are you alright?" he asked, not daring to touch him.

Courfeyrac opened his eyes to see a very young and tender man staring at him. He was a redhead, dressed in baggy clothing and with a very concerned expression on his face.

"Am I in heaven? Are you an angel?" Courfeyrac asked, half flirting, half serious.

"Don't be silly," the guy answered, helping Courfeyrac sit up and checking if he had major wounds.

"The good news is that, apparently, they just hurt you on the eyebrow and punched your stomach."

"It's alright, they didn't take anything...it was just cheap champaign," Courfeyrac said, "My name is Courfeyrac, by the way."

"I am Jehan," the redhead answered.

"Let's go so I can cover that wound. We have a first aid kit," he offered.

"Who's we?"

"Life Support. For people like me. People with AIDS," Jehan said a bit sheepishly. He wasn't the type to be ashamed because of his sickness. Anyhow, it was always very intimidating to admit it. He had encountered so many responses that he didn't know what to expect anymore.

"Me too," Courfeyrac answered with a reassuring smile.

Jehan smiled back, a soft, sweet gesture that enchanted Courfeyrac. Then, the redhead offered him his hand, helping him stand up and showing him the way to the community center. As they walked, the teacher intertwined their fingers.

…

"Dude…What the fuck happened here?" Enjolras asked as he opened the fuse box.

"The power has been shut down in the whole building," Combeferre said, searching for a candle pack they had.

"Marius…" Enjolras mumbled.

"How do you think the new neighbors are coping with this?" Combeferre asked while lighting a few candles.

"The real question here is why would anyone in their right mind choose Marius to be their landlord."

"Speaking of the devil…" said Combeferre while signaling to the window.

Both friends peered through the window to see a brand new Cadillac roaring on the pavement. The owner of the car, a freckled youth clad in an expensive suit, descended without giving a second glance to the many people that circled him. He looked up, staring directly at the filmmaker and the guitarist.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and walked away, lighting the rest of the candles that his friend had found.

"I'm going to see what he wants now," Combeferre said, running through the dark corridor with a candle in his hand.

"Tell him we all know where he can put his rent contract," Enjolras shouted from the living room of their apartment before closing the door.

He sat down all by himself, closing his eyes and letting the memories consume his soul once more. Once again, image of his beautiful girlfriend, the woman who carved herself into his heart, smiles painfully.

He remembered, once again, the first meeting and the first date. It all came back: the first kiss, the first song, the first discussion and the first few grams of smack. Overall, he remembered that chilly night of November, almost a month after they both got their blood tests, in which she immortalized her existence with a blade.

He didn't cry anymore. His tears had dried. He was dead inside. Probably, that's why he couldn't write any song. Nothing had a sense anymore. He was going to die too and he was too much of a coward to do so the same way his Adelaide had done. He was going to let the infamous HIV conspire against him from the inside.

His memories were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. He sighed, standing up. Expecting to see Combeferre and Marius, he slammed the door open. The image he saw in front of him completely took him aback.

"Excuse me. Got a light?"

**I hope you liked**** it :) Let's see what happens next! **


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